


Can't fix him

by verdantspace



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Delusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8747602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdantspace/pseuds/verdantspace
Summary: He dares himself to look to his right, only to find that flights of fancy do not convert into reality, no matter how much you wish for it.A SouRyuu one-shot, told entirely from Sousuke's point of view.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will never stop writing SouRyuu despite its very small audience, it seems, and that's completely okay :"")) This piece is mainly inspired by Lana Del Rey's song, Shades of Cool, title is also taken from that song.
> 
> Who am I kidding though, lmao most of my SouRyuu feels originates from her songs so. Check them out if you want maximum feels.
> 
> Cry with me on twitter: [@verdantspace](https://twitter.com/verdantspace)
> 
> Also dedicated to people who enjoy SouRyuu, however few are out there, I love yall.

Yaotome Sousuke owns a piece of land on Motoazabu, upon which a luxurious house stands tall and imposing. It’s a piece of property he’d bought on a whim, which had been strange in itself because he wasn’t—still isn’t—a spender, no matter how much money he has sitting in his bank account.

His son had looked at him with incredulous eyes when he first set eyes on the property, but he hadn’t said anything. Sousuke’s best guess is that Gaku had wondered what use his father would have of a magnanimous, bloated summer house when he spends ninety percent of his waking hours in the office.

Sousuke would never admit it, but there are times when things get too much; responsibilities and expectations crowding his mind like a swarm of incessant bees. He goes to that house when he wants solitude, long stretches of silence that work wonders for his mental state. The house provides both seclusion and opulence, so Sousuke deems it worthy of its value in gold.

Today is one of those days, and Sousuke finds himself in his sleek blue Audi, driving the nine miles needed for him to reach the house from the office. The space of his car is filled with John Coltrane’s lush saxophone and Johnny Hartman’s velvety baritone, spelling out lyrics about the futility of easing away one’s loneliness.

 _I’ll forget you, I will. While yet you are still, burning inside my brain,_ he sings, in a smooth, haunting croon.

Sousuke imagines another voice singing along; deep and soothing, a vexing combination of innocent softness and alluring bait. He imagines a presence on his passenger seat, dolled up in a satin, winter white shirt that perfectly complements tan skin. He imagines a brush of a smile on lush lips, still so shy even after all these years.

He dares himself to look to his right, only to find that flights of fancy do not convert into reality, no matter how much you wish for it. He takes a deep breath and continues to drive, translucent lines from the street lamps falling on his face like faded scars.

 

***

There was a time when the house offered him solitude and nothing else, but that was before Tsunashi Ryuunosuke.

Now, the house contains images of the boy—man? He’s reached twenty three just a week ago—blurring out and fading into view at strange intervals. Sousuke is aware that this is the workings of his mind; that his desire has reached an intensity that affects the chemicals of his brain. Instead of seeing what is truly in front of him, his eyes take in what he _wants_ to see, which are variations of Tsunashi Ryuunosuke, so eerily similar to the real person.

He walks into the house to the image of him on the doorstep, greeting him with a gentle _‘Sousuke-san’_ that sends warm shivers down Sousuke’s spine. The real Tsunashi Ryuunosuke doesn’t dare to call him with anything other than his title, so he revels in the way that imaginary voice wraps around the vowels of his name.

Sousuke replies with a quiet, “Hello, Ryuunosuke,” that lights up the young man’s face with glee. Brown hair flutters as Ryuunosuke bends down to brush a kiss on Sousuke’s cheek. The skin under his lips grows warm, strangely, and the warmth quickly blooms into simmering heat, pooling low on Sousuke’s belly. Just as he reaches out a hand to grab Ryuunosuke by the collar and force that mouth open for a real welcome kiss, his image swirls into nothingness, and Sousuke finds himself standing alone on the decorated foyer.

He swallows his disappointment and walks forward, knowing that he’ll eventually meet another version of Ryuunosuke inside—hopefully clad in that beautifully embroidered maroon shirt Sousuke bought him, and nothing else.

Deep in the excesses of his mind, Sousuke knows just how dangerous it is; that it’s a degenerative disease of the mind. Yet somehow, he can’t resist the pull of it, the allure of giving into his imagination.

The house indulges him by reflecting mirages of Ryuunosuke; made prettier when decorated with the extravagance interior of the house. These delusions are as venomous as they are addicting, trapping him in a web that he willingly walks into.

He goes toward the kitchen and finds Ryuunosuke there—sadly not in the aforementioned maroon shirt. He’s wearing a soft, cream colored jumper now, too big on his shoulders and almost covering his fingers. He still towers over Sousuke, though, their height difference getting more noticeable as Sousuke approaches him.

Ryuunosuke doesn’t resist when Sousuke hovers on his back, keeping just enough distance for him to move around. He’s preparing a cup of coffee—black, sweetened with a few drops of caramel. When he finally turns around, the smile on his face is enough to undo Sousuke thoroughly.

 _‘Sousuke-san, you came,’_ he says, that phantom voice tinted with relief and longing, ‘ _it’s been so lonely and I,’_ he pauses, a blush blooming on his face, _‘I’ve missed you.’_

Such simple words, yet they’re more potent than a siren’s song on Sousuke’s ears. Ryuunosuke is looking at the floor, sometimes stealing surreptitious glances at Sousuke and quickly averting his eyes when the older man catches him looking. The color on his cheeks is more prominent now, staining tan skin with warm, muted red.

It’d be so easy to reach out a hand, trace hungry fingers along smooth skin, and finally find out if this fantasy of his can have corporeal form.

Yet he doesn’t dare to touch, no.

Sousuke wants to feel him, wants to see if there are hidden faults on his visibly flawless skin, but Ryuunosuke’s image always flutters into nothing every time he gets close enough to touch. So he refrains from touching, if it means that he can look for a while longer.

So he steps closer, trapping Ryuunosuke between his body and the counter—close enough to feel but not enough to touch. He hears a hitch of breath on his right ear and feels another body going rigid under him. Sousuke is well aware of how obedient his Ryuunosuke is, so he whispers a quiet _relax_ that makes him melt, loosens his muscles and coaxes a quiet sigh from his throat.

Sousuke closes his eyes, leans into Ryuunosuke’s figmental presence and doesn’t feel so alone.

 

***

 

As much as he loves Ryuunosuke’s mirages, there are times where common sense takes over.

There’s a room in the house that helps him escape, where he can truly be solitary. It’s a large lounge, tastefully decorated and beautifully furnished. The details are impeccable, Sousuke has to admit; little carvings on the dècor, intricate patterns on the carpeting, expensive trinkets scattered here and there. Yet no one pays attention to those tiny details because the big glass wall connected directly to the pool usually steals the spotlight.

It’s akin to a big aquarium, arranged as such so that the occupants of the room can see everything that goes on inside of the pool. Maybe this it’s the rich and famous’ idea of fun; watching their equally famous friends play around inside of the water, a little bit of innocent fun that costs millions.

Sousuke doesn’t need any of that, though.

He likes looking at the water. It calms him, in a way, the blue color and its concurrent ripples, constant yet ever changing. It’s almost hypnotic, the movement of the water, and it draws his thoughts away from Ryuunosuke. He lits his cigarette, inhales the exquisite poison and holds it inside of his lungs for some seconds.

When he finally releases it, the smoke surrounds him in hazy clouds, addling his vision for a few moments. He blinks once, twice, and when his eyes come into focus, it’s to Ryuunosuke’s silhouette in the pool.

He looks like he’s dancing; all lean grace and strong muscles, moving this way and that without a care in the world. For a split second, Sousuke’s chest tightens in worry, because just how long has he been inside of the water?

An irrelevant concern, because a mirage doesn’t need to breathe, and Sousuke wonders just how deep he’s fallen. He chooses to ignore that thought and continues staring, transfixed. Ryuunosuke notices him, at last, evident from the way his eyes go wide in shock only to sparkle a moment later.

He points upwards, wearing a mischievous smile that Sousuke has yet to see on his counterpart.

 _‘Race you to the surface?’_ His taunt echoes in Sousuke’s head, absurdly real for a fragment of imagination.

Sousuke half sprints up the stairs, not wanting to lose the chase. He reaches the pool soon enough and stands in silence, heart beating in anticipation as he stares at the water. Seconds after, the quiet surface begins to break, creating a chaos of ripples that mirrors Sousuke’s state of mind.

Ryuunosuke surfaces, finally, breathing in the air that he steals from Sousuke’s lungs.

Everything slows down to a motion picture. Ryuunosuke is breathtaking in his soaked white shirt, the material clinging to caramel skin and leaving nothing to imagination. Sousuke drags hungry eyes on what is displayed, thinking about a thousand and one ways to make it bend, submit, beautifully pliant under his hands.

His thoughts get loud, stealing his focus and blurring his vision for a split second, enough that he doesn’t realize that Ryuunosuke is now only a few steps away. He looms in front of Sousuke, every aspect of his body superior to the older man—wide shoulders, defined arms, long torso—and yet there’s something about the way he carries himself.

At first glance, Ryuunosuke’s built makes him seem intimidating—the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, the centre of attention in any room he walks into. But after the initial shock subsides, Sousuke discovers an underlying softness, hidden beneath toned muscles and sunburnt skin.

His Ryuunosuke looks at Sousuke with sweet, wide eyes, reflecting nothing but utmost trust and apparent longing. It’s easy to get lost in those reverent eyes, and Sousuke’s given up finding his way out since long ago.

 _‘Sousuke-san,’_ Ryuunosuke calls, and nothing else matters but these stolen moments.

“I want you,” Sousuke blurts out like he can’t help it. Can’t help the way he craves him _so much,_ the one thing that he truly yearns for.

Ryuunosuke’s gaze doesn’t waver, tender and a little sad. He walks forward so that they’re almost touching, so close that Sousuke can almost feel his resolve crumbling. He grinds his teeth and resists, restraining himself to close that half inch gap between them. Because he doesn’t want to lose this image of Ryuunosuke, not yet.

Ryuunosuke—bless his soul—seems to know of his inner turmoil. He speaks, then, breathing out the word in hushed whispers, _‘Please go to your room,’_ he requests, _‘I’ll be there for you.’_

And just like that, Sousuke follows.

 

***

It’s so unfair that Ryuunosuke is the only one who can touch; his delectation palpable from the slack of his mouth and the twitches of his hips. Yet Sousuke doesn’t mind, keeps his hands to himself as he looks on, watches Ryuunosuke indulge himself in carnal pleasure and immoral affection. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

 _‘Sousuke-san,’_ Ryuunosuke breathes, a whiny quality in his voice, _‘why won’t you, ngh, why won’t you touch me? Oh god, I’m close— so close, please, please touch me?’_

Sousuke steels himself, and manages between gritted teeth, “You know I can’t.”

Ryuunosuke lets out a breathy whine at that, and a bead of tear finally falls from his eyes. Sousuke longs to comfort him, take him into his arms and gives him what he wants. They’re joined together; the closest two people can possibly be, but it still isn’t enough.

It seems that Ryuunosuke also shares that frustration, evident from the way he moves his hips with urgency, looking for a way to scratch the itch—the feeling of not enough not enough _notenough_. His movements are harsh and honest and more than a little messy; a far cry from the grace he displays whenever he’s dancing in front of an audience.

After a few more tries, he finally finds the perfect angle. The scream that forces its way out of Ryuunosuke’s throat is raw and pleasure-filled, so genuine that Sousuke has to claw the bedsheets to stop himself from reaching for him. He longs to have Ryuunosuke underneath him, devoid of control and consumed by pleasure so intense that all vocabularies are erased from his brain.

Nevertheless, he decides not to do it because it’d be a discourtesy to Ryuunosuke, who is being such a good boy for him. He’s working his hips tirelessly, ignoring the way his thighs must be screaming in protest. Sousuke can see that the pain is also part of his pleasure, though, because his wanton moans echo loudly throughout the room, despite the fact that he’s also crying tears of frustration.

Now, in the privacy of their bedroom and atop silken sheets, Ryuunosuke has been reduced into a creature of indulgence—unabashedly seeking pleasure and looking devilishly good while doing so. God, he loves this boy _so much_.

 _‘Sousuke-san,’_ Ryuunosuke calls, and Sousuke is so lost in his beautiful heat that he fails to respond. The younger man calls him for a second time, more urgent this time, and he finally opens his eyes. Ryuunosuke’s face is blotchy and tear-streaked, but it doesn’t make him any less lovely.

“What is it, Ryuunosuke?” he asks, focusing on his lover, “what do you need?”

 _‘Can I,’_ Ryuunosuke begins, but his words are interrupted by a strangled gasp when Sousuke snaps his hips upward, _‘can I touch myself, please?’_

It’s easy to give in and grant him what he wants—he’s been nothing but a good boy, after all—but Sousuke loves a good game.

“Of course you can,” he begins, and the hopeful little smile that appears on Ryuunosuke’s face upon hearing his words makes him want to corrupt the boy even more, “but you don’t have to, do you?”

Ryuunosuke falls silent in the face of his question, so Sousuke continues.

“You don’t have to jerk off to get off because _this_ is enough, isn’t it?” Sousuke purposefully thrusts his hips upward, making Ryuunosuke lose his balance.

“Easy,” Sousuke orders, “find your balance, that’s good. Are you okay?”

Ryuunosuke sucks in a deep breath before nodding. He plants his knees more firmly on the sheets and then whispers, _‘Please continue.’_

Sousuke gives him one of his rare smiles, a gesture of tenderness and adoration that is hardly shown, even to this version of Ryuunosuke. He hopes that Ryuunosuke receives his message, because no matter how cruel his next words may seem, every single thing he does is rooted from the intense affection he feels for the younger man.

He takes a deep breath before saying, “It’s such a waste of time to touch yourself when you can easily come just from my cock, isn’t it?”

Ryuunosuke looks at him in a mixture of disbelief and denial. He takes some time before stuttering out, _‘I—I don’t—’_

“Don’t fucking lie,” Sousuke accentuates his words with a thorough thrust, deep and unforgiving, “Your body loves it so much when I’m inside of you that you don’t need anything else to come,” he growls out and relishes in the way Ryuunosuke’s eyes seem to quiver, “isn’t that right?”

 _‘Oh, God,’_ Ryuunosuke moans, using the holy name in vain and sounding scandalously reverent as he does so, _‘I love it, love your cock so much, please,’_ he lets out a loud sob, fingers covering his face as he says, _‘don’t look at me, I’m shameful. So shameful.’_

The last syllable breaks into a series of gasps that ends into a shuddery sigh, a clear sign that he’s as close as he can be. Sousuke takes pity on him and decides to finally give him his reward.

“You’re lovely, Ryuunosuke,” he grunts out, noticing that he also sounds more than a little wrecked, “now come for me.”

Ryuunosuke doesn’t howl nor scream when he finally reaches the end. His whole body breaks in shivers, like he’s trying hard to contain the amount of pleasure he’s feeling. Sousuke knows just how much, though, evident from the way his velvety insides undulates around his length, hot and intense and _perfect._

Ryuunosuke lets out one last strangled moan when he finally comes, staining Sousuke’s belly with remnants of his pleasure, and the sight is enough to push the older man to his edge. Sousuke climaxes with a quiet grunt, twisting the sheets under his fingers and if it rips under the assault, he really couldn’t care less.

It takes him a while to finally comes down, and a broken, wispy sigh of his name is the last thing he hears before he’s suddenly alone in the room. The bed is too big for him and stained with various fluids, which will be a pain to remove later.

It’s been too long since he’s felt like this; the kind of desire that haunts his sleep and stains his sheets. All because of those wide eyes, soft voice and softer skin—every inch of him tragically untouchable. In the end, Sousuke swallows his pain and swims in solitude, hoping that the Ryuunosuke of his dreams—ironically vivid and hungry for his love—would decide to visit one more time.

 

***  


“Are you alright?” Ryuunosuke asks, all huge eyes and crinkled forehead. It takes Sousuke a few seconds to realize that he’s in his office and the one before him is the _real_ Tsunashi Ryuunosuke, not the one residing in his summer house. He’s looking at Sousuke with apparent worry, and Sousuke hates to be the one to put that expression on his face. His genuine concern only puts salt on Sousuke’s open wound, but maybe he’s pathetic enough that he’ll take anything Ryuunosuke gives him, even pity.

“I’m fine,” Sousuke answers in a clipped tone, giving nothing away. He’s a professional at keeping his feelings at bay, even when everything threatens to boil over.

Ryuunosuke doesn’t seem convinced, and Sousuke interrupts his question even before he can voice it. “I am fine. Really, Ryuunosuke, even if there was something bothering me, do you really think you have the capacity to remedy my situation?”

The younger man visibly flinches, taking some steps backwards as he bows his head in an apologetic display. They’re so similar yet so _different_ , Sousuke muses, because his Ryuunosuke would have displayed the same amount of remorse, but he’d be more sulky about it, pulling off perfect gloomy faces and pouty lips that’d make Sousuke give in sooner rather than later.

He won’t get that from the one in front of him, though, and surprisingly, it still hurts to some degree. It’s nothing crushing, the pain, but he still feels the pinpricks of it. Tiny little jabs to his heart that proves to be very distracting.

Sousuke closes his eyes to will away the emotion, and almost on cue, the door to his office bursts open. He isn’t surprised to see Gaku hovering on the entrance, because his son is the only one who’s gutsy enough to storm through his office without knocking. And by gutsy, he means rude.

“Old man,” Gaku says, “You finished? I need Ryuu for rehearsals.”

He observes how Ryuunosuke’s eyes light up upon hearing Gaku’s voice; how his whole body relaxes and how his face blooms into a relieved smile. Gaku meets Ryuunosuke’s smile with a cheeky grin of his own, as if saying _I’m here to get you out,_ and really, how did Sousuke end up with this headache for a son, he’ll never be able to fathom.

“You’re dismissed.” Sousuke deadpans. He physically can not handle having both of them acting like that in front of his face, so he decides to put himself out of misery.

Ryuunosuke has the awareness to look contrite, but Sousuke waves him off.

“It’s okay. We’re done, anyway, so you can go.”

“...Alright. Thank you for having me, _Shacho_ ,” Ryuunosuke says. Always the perfect picture of courtesy, Ryuunosuke bows for a full three seconds before turning his back towards Sousuke. He’s walking to where _Gaku_ is waiting for him, and something visceral inside of Sousuke wants to scream.

“Ryuunosuke,” Sousuke calls, regretting it almost immediately because Ryuunosuke is fast to turn his attention towards him. He doesn’t know what his voice reflects, but that concerned gaze is back on him, golden and intense—trying to decipher him. Sousuke wavers for a split second but his resolve to not let his secret out wins in the end.

“Good luck on rehearsals.” He concludes, firm and clipped. A crinkle appears between Ryuunosuke’s forehead, and Sousuke wants to curse him for being so fine tuned to other people’s discomfort. Always trying his best to make sure that people are comfortable around him. Sousuke would never expect that  kindness to be the ban of his existence, but the world is cruel like that.

Ryuunosuke gives up at the end, though, because he gives Sousuke a tiny nod and leaves the room.

It’s silence, finally. Just Sousuke and the rustles of paperwork that he should be doing, but he feels inexplicably tired, both physically and emotionally.

All of a sudden, he feels a presence to his left, wispy and whimsical, slowly solidifying into something almost intelligible.

 _‘Sousuke-san’,_ Ryuunosuke whispers, and Sousuke doesn’t even need to look at him to know that this is the one that belongs to him. He has a petulant quality in his tone when he continues, _‘don’t look that way. Don’t look at him, he’ll only make you sad. You don’t deserve to be sad.’_

It’s a siren’s calling—as sweet as it is destructive—and Sousuke is too numb to refuse.

 _‘Be with me,’_ a rustle, and Ryuunosuke’s hands are on his face. His fingers are warm. _‘Touch me. Touch me back, please, I promise I won’t disappear.’_

Sousuke wants to trust him, but he’s too scared of losing him. His hesitation crumbles when Ryuunosuke presses a fluttering kiss to his eyelid, followed with an almost tearful plea of, _‘Believe me, please.’_

With shaking fingers, he finally succumbs. The tips of his fingers hover on tan skin before finally making contact, and a hoarse gasp escapes him. They’re _touching_ , finally touching, and Sousuke fails to find reason. He’d never been able to touch him before, and he swears something cracks in his brain.

This is all the workings of his mind; the result of his intoxicated brain, too drunk in love and too proud to admit it. But he doesn’t care, because for someone who works as hard as himself, indulgence is something rare. He wants what he wants, and if this is the only way he can have it, then so be it.

He circles his arms around tapered waist, and his Ryuunosuke smiles at him—bright and unabashed—identical to the one Tsunashi Ryuunosuke had given him on the night he fell in love.

Sousuke embraces him tight, and accepts everything as he whispers, “Thank you for being here.”

He doesn’t need a response, because in his mind, he already knows the answer.

 

 _And when he calls_  
_He calls for me and not for you_  
_He lives for love, he loves his drugs_  
_He loves his baby too_  
  
_But I can't fix him, can't make him better_  
_And I can't do nothing about this strange weather_

_-Shades of Cool, Lana Del Rey_


End file.
